<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Open For Me by lickitysplit</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100767">Open For Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lickitysplit/pseuds/lickitysplit'>lickitysplit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Drama &amp; Romance, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Love, First Time, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Killing, Pre-Canon, Sad, Sex, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:26:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lickitysplit/pseuds/lickitysplit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil.</p><p>Please read tags and author's notes for content warnings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. February 1994</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you for reading! I had wanted to do a version of what I thought Vergil's story could be with a Reader character. This story is written and will be published on Mondays. There are five parts in all, which take place before and after canon.</p><p>This story contains explicit sexual content, and later chapters have implied nonconsent and drug-induced sex. Please be sure to read tags and content warnings before chapters. </p><p>I am so grateful for you for reading and welcome your comments. Please enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> That’s the problem with being </em> <em><br/></em> <em> the strong one. </em> <em><br/></em> <em> No one offers </em> <em><br/></em> <em> you a </em> <em><br/></em> <em> hand. </em> <em><br/></em> <em> —m. t. </em></p><p>“Come on,” you whisper as you unlock the front door and slip inside. Vergil follows, and you lean around him to quietly press the door shut and turn the deadbolt with a click. Pausing, you listen for any sound, but the house is dark and quiet. The truck outside means that at least your stepfather is home, but it’s late enough he’s probably sleeping off whatever he drank for the day. Mom is working nights, so no chance of running into her.</p><p>You don’t bother to turn on any of the lights, leading Vergil carefully up the steps, making sure to avoid the one that squeaks. His presence behind you makes your senses heightened, because if either of your parents found out you brought a boy home they’d have your ass and you’d be lucky to make it out alive. You hadn’t said as much to Vergil, but he seems to know instinctively, and he is silent as he follows you up to your room in the third-floor attic.</p><p>Once safely inside, you shut and lock your door before flipping on the bedside lamp. The room is bathed in warm light, and you turn nervously to see what he thinks. Vergil surveys the room, his face expressionless, but you breathe a sigh of relief when he nods. “It’s nice,” he says.</p><p>“Thanks.” Suddenly embarrassed, you gesture to your bed. “Want to sit down?”</p><p>“Sure.” He drops his bag quietly and kicks off his shoes, well-worn boots that are too expensive to belong to him. Everything he has is too expensive to be his, the leather jacket that he shrugs off and hangs on the doorknob, the chain around his neck that holds something under his dark t-shirt. </p><p>Vergil is a street kid, one of the many that roam around selling drugs and shoplifting to get by, but he’s different. Even though everything he owns is surely stolen and he doesn’t go to school or have a job, he’s not like the other punks who hang out on the corners. You had seen him around a bit, coming into the community center once in a while when they hand out box lunches or to rummage through the clothes bin. There had been something about him, some kind of air that made him stand out from the usual homeless kids; as if he didn’t really belong, as if he was from somewhere else, some time else.</p><p>Finally your curiosity got the better of you. You hang there too, a place to go that’s not home, and one afternoon as he was looking around with a scowl, you dared to go over.</p><p>“I’ve seen you before,” you said, looking him up and down. </p><p>“No you didn’t,” he had answered.</p><p>To your surprise, he had actually seemed almost alarmed. So you changed tactics and asked, “You need some help?”</p><p>“I don’t need help,” he said. “I’m looking for a phone.”</p><p>You jerked your chin to the side. “Payphones are over there. Need a quarter?”</p><p>“Thanks.” He had taken your quarter and made a call, and afterward you told him about the shower in the back he could use if he wanted. He had hesitated, but then nodded, and twenty minutes later when he had emerged with his silverish hair all wet and slicked back you were almost in love.</p><p>He kept turning up, and whether you made sure to run into him or he made sure to run into you, you didn’t know. But somehow when you were there, he was too. You learned his name was Vergil, and he was on his own, seventeen years old, just like you. You are a senior in high school, but he never went, and you laughed when he seemed surprised at the suggestion. </p><p>“Where do you live?” you had asked him one day as you helped him load some clothes into the washing machine.</p><p>“Wherever I can,” he had answered shortly.</p><p>“You can stay with me, if you ever get stuck.”</p><p>Like most of the teens that frequent the center, Vergil started to help around the place, but most of the time he just hung around, watching you do homework or sweep the floor, using the place to shower and get dinner or just take a nap in the TV room.</p><p>It’s cold tonight though, so when you offered a place again, he actually said yes. It still surprises you, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you watch him sit carefully on your mattress. He looks so out of place on your pink bedspread, which is too thin and too short but all you have. “Are you hungry?” you ask.</p><p>“Not really,” he answers. “Why are we being so quiet?”</p><p>You blush furiously at the question, moving to pick up some things you had tossed on the floor. “My stepdad is probably sleeping. He can be mean when you wake him up.”</p><p>“Sounds like an asshole.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you snort. You peek over your shoulder. “Not much longer though. I’m graduating in June and then I’m fucking out of here.”</p><p>“You’re leaving?”</p><p>You nod and dump the clothes in the hamper. “Yeah. I’ve been saving for a place. Gonna go to the city, get a job waitressing or something and try to take some classes. I want to be a nurse.”</p><p>Vergil considers this and nods. “You’d be good at that. When are you leaving?”</p><p>Shrugging, you reply, “I don’t know. This summer. Why, you want to come?”</p><p>His eyes widen slightly, then he surprises you again by nodding. “Yes. I’ll come.”</p><p>You smile and move to the bed, pressing your knee to the mattress as you straddle one of his legs. “Good,” you say, your arms going around his shoulders as his wraps around your waist. Then you lean down to kiss him, and your mouths seal together with a sigh as you settle on his lap.</p><p>It was two weeks ago when you had first kissed Vergil, stealing one when you were saying goodnight before heading home. You had been staying later and later just to hang out with him, and he was a regular now, there just to see you. Vergil even started walking you home, although you made him leave you at the corner, afraid your parents would see you walking up with a boy they wouldn’t approve of. It had been nothing more than a peck, but the next night he had kissed you properly, and every night since, leaving you in a daze when you turned down the block to your house.</p><p>His mouth is just as hot, just as firm, his lips lingering over yours. He slides his palms over your hips before slipping under your shirt, and you nibble on his lip as his fingers move upwards, his touch on your bare skin making you shiver. </p><p>The room is quiet, the only sound your heavy breathing mingling as he takes off your shirt and you unbutton his jeans. Shyly you undress before he climbs over you, and you run your hands over his chest, his body just lean muscle. Hanging on a thin chain is a red jewel, and you pause to examine it as he cages you in with his arms. “This is beautiful,” you whisper, but he cuts off any other remarks with another kiss.</p><p>His eyes are intense as he slides between your thighs. “Open for me,” he whispers. The red pendant hangs between you, the bedroom light making it sparkle just a bit, and when he lowers against you it presses firm and cool against your breasts. It’s your first time, and you wonder if it’s his too, but you’re too scared to ask because neither answer will honestly make you happy. So you pull him into another kiss as the head of him nudges against your opening, sighing into his mouth as he presses inside.</p><hr/><p>Vergil sits on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, and thinks. Sleeping on a mattress had felt almost foreign to him, it had been so long; even on the nights when he ended up in a shelter or crashing at someone’s place, it was on the floor, or at most a couch. A real bed with a real pillow and blanket had given him a strange sort of unease, so he had spent most of the night watching you sleep, pleased with that at least.</p><p>The clock on the bedside table reads ten minutes until seven. He should go, but he is reluctant. It is bitterly cold outside, telltale frost on the window that shows the temperature is below freezing. It’s also Saturday, which means that the places he would normally go to, like the library or the mall, will open later than normal. He is also wary of running into someone on the way out and getting you in trouble. Even though he knows the way through your house already, having memorized it like second nature on the way in, a wayward creaky step or a loose board in the floor could alert someone he is there, and that would be disaster.</p><p>Most of all, though, he doesn’t want to leave you. Vergil glances over to see you still asleep, his lips curling into a small smile as he presses his mouth to his fingers. Last night had been… unexpected. But it was exciting and lovely and your kindness in giving him a place to stay was only second to how amazed he had been when you kissed him. He is always amazed by you: like a bright star, he thinks, something that gives life and warmth. But he is cautious, always cautious, because too much sun could burn.</p><p>Something shifts in the house, prickling along the back of his neck, and Vergil knows he made the right choice. A few minutes later there are footsteps in the hallway below, a door opening and closing, running water. Some muffled words and more footsteps, then the house falls quiet again, whoever it had been visiting the bathroom now back to sleep. Still, his presence is dangerous for them both, and they could have easily met on his way out.</p><p>You shift on the bed, your hand sliding along the bedsheet in your sleep. Deciding on staying, he lays back down, folding his arm around you to pull you against his chest. You are wearing one of his shirts, something that had made him snort when you asked, but it was endearing and Vergil was happy to lend something. Your legs curl around his and he sighs, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet.</p><p>How long has it been for him to have such a moment? Childhood, probably, before Dante would wake up in a ball of frenetic energy and tear through the house, feet slapping on the floor and his voice echoing down the hallway. Vergil would lay in bed like this, or sit on the windowsill, watching the snow fall or the leaves dance on the wind or the flowers peek out from the tree outside his window. Dante’s room was across the hall, but that had been Vergil’s place to himself, his thinking spot.</p><p>He looks out the window, swallowing uncomfortably at the memory. The last time Vergil had been in his room, he was looking for a tennis set. He had found one of the rackets but not the other, and he huffed around his room in frustration, debating if it would be worth checking Dante’s. Dante could never clean up after himself, and searching his room would be doomed from the start.</p><p>Deciding to check the backyard, Vergil had hopped down the steps, wondering where his brother had gone off to. Once he found the other racket his plan was to make Dante play a few games, knowing he could beat him easily. They were evenly matched at most things, but Dante was always better at sports than Vergil: except tennis, which is why it was his favorite game.</p><p>You shift next to him, and Vergil realizes he is holding you a bit too tightly. He eases his grip, pushing away the next set of memories of what happened as he hunted through the sandbox for the missing racket. His fingers are trembling, but he forces them to relax, finally rubbing soft circles on your lower back as you open your eyes.</p><p>“Hey,” you whisper.</p><p>“Hey,” he says back.</p><p>You yawn and press closer. “I half expected you to be gone,” you say sleepily.</p><p>Vergil chuckles. “I thought about it. But I didn’t want to leave you.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>He sighs, going back to staring out the window as you doze off. An hour slips by with him lost in his thoughts before you stir again, stretching your limbs before turning to smile up at him. “Hey again,” Vergil says.</p><p>“Do you want to hang out today?” you ask.</p><p>His brows dart up in surprise. “Sure, I think? You mean here?”</p><p>You shrug. “As long as we’re quiet. No one comes up here. You can stay here if they call me for something.”</p><p>Vergil nods, but doesn’t let himself get excited. Another night or two under a roof is too much to think about. Instead he rolls a bit to cover you with his body, his hand firm on your hip. </p><p>You sigh and press your face into his neck, and Vergil swallows thickly. Holding you like this, the only person who has ever been so kind to him… it’s a bit overwhelming, and he needs to take a few minutes to ground himself. Being alone has always been the plan: it’s safer, less messy, less likely to attract the demons who inevitably find him. Whenever there has been a bystander who gets in the way it just brings trouble, so Vergil makes it a point to stay away from humans as much as possible, venturing near them only when he needs something.</p><p>But you… his thumb runs circles on your hip before his palm slides up to your waist. You are small and fragile and wouldn’t stand a chance against the things that hunt him, but staying away from <em> you </em> seems impossible now.</p><p>“Are you feeling okay?” you ask quietly. “Seems like you’re thinking about something.”</p><p>Vergil shakes his head. As he bends down to press his lips to yours, there is a drop of emotion that feels unwelcome: fear. He had long ago stopped being afraid, years on his own teaching him that only strength and discipline matter, that hesitation and fear only brought weakness. And weakness means death. </p><p>“Vergil,” you sigh, and he kisses you again, firmer this time as he presses one leg between your thighs. Arms wrap around him as fingers slide into his hair, the sensation thrilling and soothing at the same time. His heart is racing as his hand reaches out to grab the bedsheet with a fierce grip. </p><p>Beneath the surface of his skin and muscle something pulses in his blood, something he has felt for years but cannot name, something wrapped up in his DNA. All he knows is the drive to unlock it, whatever <em> it </em> is, but it has never been so clear or so fierce. Vergil has the sensation that whatever part of himself is still hidden is just out of reach, but being with you here brings it closer than ever, and he wonders if you could be the key. Anxiety mixes with desire and it is confusing and terrifying but he wants more of it, more of you. </p><p>The bedroom door slams open and you both break apart, jolting with the sound. Your hands press to his chest, pushing him off, and you slowly rise to take in the half-dressed and half-drunk man that stumbles in the door. “What the fuck is this?” he growls, pointing at Vergil. “Who the fuck are you?”</p><p>“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, trying to push around Vergil. “He’s a friend of mine, and needed a place—”</p><p>“Fucking slut! You brought a boy home to fuck in <em> my </em> house?” he shouts. He takes another step forward, swaying slightly as his words slur. “Your mother’s too soft on you, I been saying it. After I kick his ass I’m gonna teach you a lesson, whore.”</p><p>Vergil can feel you go tense behind him, a little noise escaping. But he feels settled, faced with a threat he can understand, and he shakes off your grip to step into the middle of the room. “Disgusting pig,” Vergil spits, scoffing when the man gapes at him. “Turn around and leave if you know what’s good for you.”</p><p>The man lets go a string of curses that are barely coherent before he crashes forward, swinging. Vergil easily sidesteps him, his reflexes quick as he grabs him by the back of the neck and launches him towards the floor. He bounces against the wood, shouting as his chin cracks open, and when he rolls Vergil kicks him in the stomach.</p><p>“Vergil! Stop it!”</p><p>Your voice is the only thing that stops him. It pulls Vergil back from where he kneels over the man, fist raised to connect with his face. Vergil takes a few deep breaths, feeling the pulse of his power subside to a manageable level, and beyond that, the taste of what he cannot unlock, taunting him to hit the drunk and see what happens.</p><p>The stepfather looks up with wide eyes, as if shocked that he is on the floor, and Vergil makes a face. He reeks of beer and his face and neck are smeared with blood, two things Vergil hates. He stares back, jaw tightened as he grits his teeth; but as he lowers his fist he sees a bit of red tingeing the corners of the man’s eyes.</p><p>It is not the red of a night of drinking or of stumbling bleary-eyed from sleep: it is the red flash of a demon.</p><p>He stands and hauls the stepfather up, ignoring your protests. “Stay here,” he barks, dragging the man out and down the attic steps.</p><p>Once they hit the hallway, Vergil uses his real strength to slam him against the wall, nearly hearing his teeth rattle. He lifts the man easily and leans forward to threaten him. “I know what you are,” Vergil growls.</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“I can see you,” he seethes, talking to the demon. “This human left himself wide open with his vileness, didn’t he? So you listen.” The stepfather holds his breath as Vergil’s grip tightens. “Make sure he leaves her alone. Don’t speak to her, don’t look at her. Or I’ll come back and take care of you as well, understand?”</p><p>The man nods, so Vergil lowers him slowly. He lifts a hand to wipe blood from his mouth, and after shooting him a glare he pushes past and into the bathroom, slamming the door. Tension radiates through Vergil’s body but he purposely keeps it in check, taking his own moment before climbing the stairs back to the attic.</p><p>He finds you sitting on the bed, clutching the blanket tightly. “What happened?” you whisper.</p><p>“Nothing. He won’t bother you.” Vergil grabs his bag before moving to where his boots lay, leaning over to pull the laces. “I should go. I’ll see you—”</p><p>“Wait!” You run over and launch yourself, catching Vergil around the waist. He looks down in surprise as you hug him tightly, damp face pressed to his chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur.</p><p>Vergil tilts your face up with a frown. He looks at your eyes, eyes that are free from any trace of demon, before stroking your cheek. “You don’t have to go,” you say, and Vergil nods, knowing that leaving is impossible now.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. September 1995</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>
        <em>What matters most</em>
        <br/>
        <em>is how well you walk</em>
        <br/>
        <em>through the fire.</em>
        <br/>
        <em>—Charles Bukowski</em>
      </p>
      <p>It is morning when you open your eyes. You smile to see Vergil still sleeping, and you slide over to lay against his back, pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades as you take in his warmth.</p>
      <p>It's quiet, so the lady upstairs must be out since when she's home her heavy footsteps clomp back and forth. Vergil jokes that she must walk a mile a day, and you're inclined to agree, although if that is the worst thing you have to deal with in this apartment you'll take it.</p>
      <p>You can feel him starting to wake up, so you kiss his neck, trailing a line down his spine. When you reach his lower back he jumps a bit, and you chuckle against the ticklish part, doing it again. Vergil rolls over with a yawn, his arm reaching for you as you look up. "What are you doing?" he asks gruffly.</p>
      <p>"Saying good morning." You crawl upwards and straddle his lap, smiling down at him just like you had the first time, over a year ago. Vergil's mouth turns up in one corner, and you return his smirk as his hands trail along your thighs.</p>
      <p>"Good morning," he replies, before grabbing your arm and yanking you down on top of him.</p>
      <p>Vergil covers your laugh with his kiss, his hand tight in your hair. You brace yourself on his shoulders as his other hand presses to your backside, and you rock as you feel his erection growing under the covers. He has been more like this lately, everything fiercer, his touch and kiss aggressive. Something is changing but you can't pinpoint it, so you allow him to take the lead as he pulls your tank top up and rolls you over.</p>
      <p>His mouth traces down your neck as he reaches your chest, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples until they harden. "Don't tease," you scold, and Vergil gives you another smirk, his eyes dark and focused on you as he gives one a long lick. You grab his hair and tug, but he won't be moved, and he teases your flesh with his tongue until you are squirming. "Stop," you moan.</p>
      <p>"You want me to stop?" he chuckles, kneeling up and tugging his sweatpants down.</p>
      <p>"You can be such a jerk sometimes." You lean up on your elbows, licking your lips as you watch him reach inside the waistband and pull his cock free, stroking himself for a moment. Then he reaches over to the table and fishes out a condom, opening it quickly and rolling it on before he leans down to cage you in with his body.</p>
      <p>"Open wide, my sweet," he murmurs.</p>
      <p>You pull your knees up and open as he sinks into you. Your head rolls back at the sensation of him filling you, stretching you, until his hips are flush with your thighs. Vergil groans as he pulls back, and then he thrusts forward again, and again, until his movements are steady and hard and he is panting with the wet slap of your bodies. The pendant sways with his movements, tapping against his chest that strains with his efforts and flushes up towards his neck. Your hands reach for his hips, holding on tightly as you let him fuck you. This is how it has been, since that first time months and months ago when he took your virginity with a breathless whisper in the quiet, still house, your parents sleeping downstairs.</p>
      <p>He knows just what to do, and it isn't long before the pulsing starts. You give a gasp as you tremble with your orgasm, and Vergil pumps his hips quickly before stilling, his grunt the only indication that he's found his own end. Collapsing back on the bed, you sigh as he pulls out, watching with a yawn as he removes the condom and ties it off before dumping it into the trash.</p>
      <p>You roll to your side with a smile, wondering about round two, but he is already grabbing his pants off of the floor. "Are you going out?" you ask.</p>
      <p>"Yeah. I'm meeting someone."</p>
      <p>At that you sit up and tug your shirt back in place. "Who?"</p>
      <p>Vergil hesitates before answering, "He knows something about my parents."</p>
      <p>"Your parents?" Confusion swirls a bit as you frown at his back. "What are you talking about?"</p>
      <p>You watch as he takes a minute to finish dressing, before finally turning towards you. But Vergil won't meet your eyes as he explains, "My parents were killed when I was only eight. There is some… mystery about what happened to them."</p>
      <p>"Like an unsolved case?" you ask.</p>
      <p>He shakes his head. "Not exactly. It's hard to explain." He checks the clock on the bedside table before moving to grab his coat. "I'll be back tonight."</p>
      <p>"Okay," you answer as the door clicks shut.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>The sun is setting, but Vergil does not move from the table by the window in the coffee shop. Arkham had left over an hour ago, but there is much to think about, to consider. He lifts the paper cup and takes a sip, barely tasting the slightly bitter coffee as he watches people walk up and down the street.</p>
      <p>All of them are so <em>oblivious.</em> Beneath their feet is a portal to another world, filled with creatures made of nightmares. Vergil is on a personal basis with the things, ever since they had killed his mother and brother and nearly him, leaving him for dead in the grass outside his childhood home.</p>
      <p>He chuckles under his breath. It's not funny, never was. But Vergil can appreciate the sick sense of irony that the one who saved humanity from the demon realm could not save his own family. Sparda had been gone well over a year, a time that was fuzzy with whispered questions and more than a few tears from his mother. The confusion is what is most potent from those memories that only surface when he concentrates hard. What had been warm and safe had turned to strain, and even now he can taste the tension that marred their lives when his father disappeared.</p>
      <p>Maybe it's just the coffee, though. Vergil finishes it off as the waitress comes over, eyes rolling and a deep sigh escaping her as she pops one hand on a hip. "You done?" she asks.</p>
      <p>Vergil takes his time draining his cup, even after the last drops had already slid down his throat, pretending to still drink. Finally he peers up at her annoyed face and sets the cup down. "Yes," he answers.</p>
      <p>The girl gives another eye roll and takes the cup. "We're closing soon," she says pointedly.</p>
      <p>"Good to know." They have a bit of a stare-off before she huffs away.</p>
      <p>Vergil turns to stare out the window again. He wonders what Dante is doing: his younger brother that he loved as fiercely as he drove him mad. As far back as he can remember, Dante had been a part of him, and there is very little of his childhood that didn't involve the curious and outgoing boy in some way. To casual outsiders, the handful of neighbors who were friendly with their family and the various servants that had lived in their home on occasion, the boys were opposites despite being twins.</p>
      <p>But that had been wrong. He and Dante had been the <em>same,</em> the same ambition, the same puffed-up sense of pride, what his mother referred to as the "Sparda" in them. It had seemed like a joke to Vergil when he was little to think of his warm and quiet father anything at all like them at their wildest, although now that he understands the full truth of who his father had been and what he had done, he sees the wisdom in his mother's assessment.</p>
      <p>"Dante," he whispers. They are not so much opposites as complements of one another, completing some missing part, as if Dante had taken all the bravado and he had absorbed all the introspection in the womb. The energetic Dante with his penchant for aggression had <em>seemed</em> the opposite of the thoughtful Vergil with his perfectionist tendencies, when actually Vergil was the only one who understood Dante's jokes, and Dante was the only one who could keep up with Vergil's ideas.</p>
      <p>Which is why the information Arkham had brought is so distressing. At first he hadn't believed it <em>could</em> be Dante, remembering the house engulfed in flames, the heat on his cheeks and the ash that choked the air. They had been inside, no way to escape. Dante was dead and gone.</p>
      <p>But the face that was almost his own had stared back at him from the photograph. The silver hair that everyone had exclaimed over when they were two little boys dressed the same was unmistakable. And the red pendant, the twin of his own, made it all reality.</p>
      <p>Arkham had left him a copy of the photographs, and Vergil pulls them out to lay neatly on the table. He snorts to himself to see that Dante had gotten no better at dressing himself, remembering how he would run out of the house barely dressed sometimes, or appear for dinner with streaks of dirt up his arms. Vergil would stand and smirk as their mother fussed over the state of his hair or why he would put on an orange shirt with red pants, enjoying the faces Dante would make as she licked her finger and rubbed a spot from his cheek.</p>
      <p><em>He rents a room in Red Grave City,</em> Arkham had told him. <em>Goes by the name Tony. Does odd jobs around to make money. Other than that, he keeps to himself.</em></p>
      <p>Of course he would; they had to, and Vergil wonders if he encounters demons as often as he does. Vergil is so full of <em>questions</em> now: who is he, where has he been, what has he been doing all this time? What did he eat those first weeks without Mother? Did he have a coat in the winter? What did he do with his blood-stained clothes after fighting off another pack of demons?</p>
      <p>The questions make him uncomfortable. Vergil isn't sure if he wants the answers, truly. He sorts through the pictures, thinking of his teenage years that were marred with hunger and violence, until he met a girl in a community center. It is almost tragic that he has finally settled into a life he can handle, only for his brother to crash into it the way he would crash into his bedroom in the morning.</p>
      <p>He will go and see Dante, though, because there is one question he must know: how he escaped. The fire had been so consuming, there was no way he could have gotten out in time. That sensation that pulses under Vergil's skin when he thinks about the demons starts to make him itch as he lifts a photograph and studies it closely. <em>There was a woman who cared for him,</em> Arkham had said. Was that Mother? Did she take him and escape the house with the one twin she could find, could save, the twin that was her favorite?</p>
      <p>Vergil curses and shakes his head. That's the real question, isn't it? For all the smirking and teasing, Dante needed more care, and Vergil had watched his parents fuss over him in ways they never needed to with Vergil. Vergil was the responsible one, the trusted one, older, smarter, better at everything, and he had to be, didn't he? Because Eva had placed her hands on his shoulders and with a teary smile had told him he was the man of the house now, and he had to protect his brother, and Vergil always took his role very, very seriously. It would make sense that she had collected Dante and ran, leaving Vergil to fight on his own, to live on the streets. Vergil could handle it. Vergil can handle anything.</p>
      <p>Quickly he gathers the photographs and stuffs them into his coat pocket. He heads to the street, weaving through the people who crowd the sidewalks, his senses alert. Even though you had shared an apartment for a year now, Vergil is still used to being on guard.</p>
      <p>He swings towards the bank on 31st. The ATM machine there has questionable security, and he lifts his hood to hide his face as he steps up and begins to press the buttons. There is a combination he had discovered that will spit out a hundred dollars, some glitch in the coding that Vergil had worked out after watching the guard who restocks the machine every morning at five a.m. It's an easy way to get money now, better than pickpocketing anyway, and with his five twenties folded in his pocket he slips down an alley to catch a bus home on the next corner.</p>
      <p>In the dark of the alley, he feels the burn on his neck, the one he has not felt in a year, ever since you had left together and settled in blissful anonymity in a new city. The one that he had started to hope he would not feel again.</p>
      <p>The one that reminds him of the fire.</p>
      <p>The air goes quiet as his footsteps stop, and he waits for them to appear, his eyes sharp on the shadows. Moving to the city had shaken them off of his trail for quite a while this time, but it is inevitable that they would find him again.</p>
      <p>Briefly he thinks of you, and what you will say when you see his blood-soaked clothes. He could run, but that would just leave them to another day, and if they followed his trail and found you…</p>
      <p>It isn't worth the risk. The only good thing about this is how far he is from the apartment, knowing that at least that will keep you safe.</p>
      <p>Vergil reaches into his jacket and pulls out a switchblade, flicking his wrist as the blade makes a soft click into place. "Come on," he mutters, impatient to get this over with.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>His words stay on your mind the entire day, even through the six-hour shift you work at the grocery store. Vergil has never talked about his past, ever, except to say he had no family. Never a mention of parents being killed, certainly.</p>
      <p>Your heart aches a bit, partly at knowing his truth, and partly that he never told you before. You had been living together for about a year now, just the two of you sharing everything. At least, you <em>thought</em> you had shared everything. But the more you think about it, the more you realize he tells you nothing of substance. He's heard all about your upbringing with a single mom and overly strict grandmother, and when your grandmother died (to your relief, really), her boyfriend had moved in. They had insisted you call him dad even though he wasn't, and any questions about who your dad really was had been met with some vague variation of "just some asshole" and a wave of your mother's hand.</p>
      <p>You had shared pictures, memories good and bad, embarrassing stories. And Vergil had too, at least seemed to… but you don't know how long he had been on the streets. You don't know what he really gets up to during the day, and how he had kept himself alive and fed and clothed those years. It wasn't drugs, that much you knew; but he always has clothes and cash to cover rent and groceries, and you are ashamed to admit you don't <em>want</em> to ask more questions. And there are other odd things: occasional rips in his clothes, his complete lack of friends, the pendant he wears at all times like an obsession, all of it becoming so glaringly obvious that you can't ignore the mystery anymore.</p>
      <p>Mind made up to finally ask and make him tell you some things, you are fixing some ramen when he gets home. The greeting dies on your lips when you see that he is covered in bruises and blood, quickly turning off the burner as you hurry over. "Vergil! What the hell happened?" you cry, eyes roaming over the puffy lip and the gash on his brow.</p>
      <p>"Nothing," he answers, pushing past you. You follow him to the kitchenette, where he runs the water and grabs some paper towels. In a shocked silence, you watch as he cleans the blood away, leaving his skin pink and puffy, before working on his hands. A sob catches in your throat when he removes his coat and you see his fingers are covered in scrapes and his arms are bruised.</p>
      <p>"Don't tell me it's nothing," you hiss. "Did you get jumped?"</p>
      <p>"Something like that."</p>
      <p>"Did they get anything?"</p>
      <p>"No."</p>
      <p>Your eyes blink away tears rapidly. "What about… do you need a doctor? Your eye looks bad."</p>
      <p>"I'll be fine."</p>
      <p>"No, no! Vergil, you're hurt, at least let me look at it!"</p>
      <p>He protests as you turn him, reaching up to cradle his face and pull it down closer to see. But then you gasp, because the gash you know you saw—you <em>know</em> you saw not a minute ago—is now no more than a scrape over his eyebrow. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open as it slowly disappears, as if the skin is gluing itself together. His lip is also shrinking, the dark red color fading back into its usual flesh-toned hue and the bruising surrounding it growing smaller and smaller.</p>
      <p>You take a step back, hitting the counter. "What?" It's all you can manage as the word catches in your throat.</p>
      <p>He takes a deep breath. "I'm fine," he says.</p>
      <p>The room seems to swim, and you realize that there are tears brimming. Vergil walks away, and you watch him move through the apartment. "I need to go for a few days. The guy I met, Arkham, he has information on my brother. I'm going to track him down, but it's all the way in Red Grave City, and that means—"</p>
      <p>"Stop!" It comes out as a cry, a sound you haven't heard your voice make since you were a kid. But it does the trick, and Vergil freezes. You see only his back, just like this morning, until he finally stuffs a shirt into his bag and turns. Again he won't meet your eyes, and your fingers tremble as you say, "I don't understand."</p>
      <p>"I'll explain it all when I get back. I promise."</p>
      <p>The air is heavy, his words hanging between you, and for the first time since you've met, you suspect Vergil is lying. Finally he walks over to you, and you gasp as you see his face and neck and arms are perfectly healed as if nothing had happened. He presses his smooth palm to your cheek and leans in with a kiss that is firm and hot but gives no comfort. "I'll be back in a few days," he says, not waiting for you to say goodbye when he leaves.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. October 1995</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for (non-major) character death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>
        <em>Knowing your power<br/>is what creates<br/>humility.<br/>Not knowing your power<br/>is what creates<br/>insecurity.<br/>—ego</em>
      </p>
      <p>A week goes by without a word. It's the longest you've not seen Vergil since the night you brought him to your parents' house, and the loneliness is as strange as it is heavy. You go to work, you make lunch, you visit the laundromat and the library. Then you climb into bed at night and stare out the window, wondering where he is, if he is okay.</p>
      <p>What you <em>won't</em> do is think about his wounds when he had come home, or how he had brushed you aside, or how you watched the bruises fade and the cuts heal and his expression turn from intense to passive.</p>
      <p>It is the middle of the night when something wakes you, strong arms slipping around you, a warm body pressing to your back. Your heart leaps into your throat, wondering if anyone will care if you scream—but then his voice whispers in your ear and the fear switches to relief. You turn and cling to him as Vergil leans in for a kiss, the next minute filled with your quiet cries as you hold him close and his mouth slides against yours.</p>
      <p>"Where were you?" you whisper. "Why didn't you call?"</p>
      <p>He doesn't answer, kissing you again instead. Irritation flares hot inside you; how can he be so callous, how can he not understand how scared you have been? But then he rolls on top of you, and the emotions melt as his palms drag up your body. Vergil tugs at your lips as his hands tug at your nightgown, nothing more than an old shirt of his that you chose to feel close to him. He pulls it off and away, and you groan when you feel his clothes are still on, scratching against your skin as he slides between your legs. He kisses down your neck and across your chest, his hands filled with your breasts, kneading your skin possessively.</p>
      <p>"Vergil, please," you whisper.</p>
      <p>"Yes." The word feathers across your lips as he leans up, and with one hand braced next to your head he uses the other to open the front of his jeans. Your heart pounds as you peer through the dark, knowing it is him but something is <em>different,</em> something is off. You place your hand on his chest, feeling for his heartbeat, and Vergil hesitates a long moment before you feel his cock pressing to your entrance.</p>
      <p>"Open," he gasps. "Open for me."</p>
      <p>There is no option but to obey. Your thighs open as he slides inside you, the feel of him familiar, which makes the wrongness that much more obvious. But the way he pumps his hips and bites at your neck and whispers your name is the same Vergil you have loved all this time, and his passion for you overwhelms you until he is driving into your body and you cry out from pleasure.</p>
      <p>When it is over, you lay shaking under him, your orgasm still sending little shockwaves through your body as he kisses your cheeks. His cock is still inside you, softer now, and he rubs your hip as his lips tease your skin. "Vergil," you murmur.</p>
      <p>"I've missed you," he replies.</p>
      <p>Your fingers slide into his hair, your heart pounding. "What happened?"</p>
      <p>You can feel his hesitation again, his shoulders tightening slightly under where your arms are draped around him. Then he pulls his body from you and kneels up, climbing from the mattress to leave you laying on the bed. You blink in the dark room and watch him adjust his clothes before turning on the bedside lamp. Vergil turns his head to smile at you over his shoulder and for some reason you sit up, reaching for the shirt he had tossed away and pulling it back on.</p>
      <p>"Let me show you," he says.</p>
      <p>He crosses the room to where he left his coat and boots. Vergil moves something and then lifts what looks like… but it can't be. His lips curl up into a grin as he grips the hilt and slowly pulls it from the sheath, the long, slim blade catching the light as he sweeps it around. "Isn't it beautiful?"</p>
      <p>"Vergil, that's a <em>sword.</em> Where…" Your voice fades in disbelief. "Where did you get a sword from?"</p>
      <p>You look at him incredulously as he admires it. "It's mine," he says. "A gift from my father. Its name is Yamato."</p>
      <p>"Your father?" You scramble to stand, your eyes wide in surprise. "He's alive?"</p>
      <p>"No. I told you, he died when I was a child." Vergil's gaze flickers to you, and you can see the heat behind his eyes. "He left this for me. A sword crafted by his own hand."</p>
      <p>Cautiously you move towards him, nodding as you approach to take a closer look. "Is this what that Arkham guy had to show you?"</p>
      <p>"Among other things." Before you can really examine the sword, Vergil quickly sheaths it. "There is more to find, however."</p>
      <p>"Wait," you say with a frown, "does that mean you're leaving again?"</p>
      <p>Vergil nods. "Eventually."</p>
      <p>You shake your head. "You can't just take off again, Vergil! What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait for you?"</p>
      <p>He frowns. "I have a job I must do. I must fulfill the oath I have taken."</p>
      <p>Vergil turns to place the sword on the table in the living room before moving towards the kitchen. "Wait, wait, none of this makes sense," you argue, following him. "What oath? What job?" He ignores you, so you grab his arm and yank him around. "Will you please answer me!"</p>
      <p>There is a long pause before he turns, looking down at you with a smooth expression. "You'll understand everything when I'm done."</p>
      <p>"Done? Done what?" Vergil looks away, so you press on, "You said you went to find your brother. Did you find him?"</p>
      <p>Vergil actually winces at that, confusing you further. "Yes. It was not what I expected. <em>He</em> is not what I expected."</p>
      <p>"But isn't that a good thing?" You take his arm gently, trying to move into his line of vision. "You have family. Your brother is alive."</p>
      <p>He shakes his head. "It only complicates everything. I had hoped that Dante would be able to help me, but… that's not possible now."</p>
      <p>"You still haven't told me what you're <em>doing,"</em> you say.</p>
      <p>Suddenly Vergil smiles at you, reaching up to brush your hair over your shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll tell you everything in the morning. Let's go to bed."</p>
      <p>You stare at him for a long moment before nodding. "I'm going to hold you to that," you say.</p>
      <p>He holds you close against his chest as you lay together, listening to the sounds of the city outside. His body is warm, almost overly so, but you have been so starved for him that you don't mind how he presses you closely. In the middle of his chest lies the pendant he always wears, the red jewel that seems to always shine, and as he dozes you reach up to slide a fingertip around the edge. Vergil falls asleep quickly, but your mind will not stop, wondering what is happening, if you should have brought up the last time you saw him, your eyes falling on the sword still sitting on the table and feeling like a heavy presence in the apartment.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Vergil is changing. Every day he is different, sometimes in ways you cannot explain, other times saying and doing things that are a shock. He has always been elusive to a degree, but it was never a problem before. You glance over your shoulder to see him going through his files again, a deep frown on his face. He hasn't shared anything with you, and you haven't had the nerve to ask.</p>
      <p>"It's disgusting," he says out loud, dropping the file of photocopies on the table.</p>
      <p>He slumps back on the couch as you call from the sink, "What's disgusting?"</p>
      <p>Vergil doesn't answer, so you finish and wipe your hands on a towel before turning around. He is watching you with a cautious gaze, a look you see a lot lately. He is restless, unable to be calm, and even in bed together he seems to be constantly moving. Even in his sleep he talks in indistinguishable murmurs, his mind never at rest.</p>
      <p>"Humans," he finally replies. You tilt your head, frowning at the strange answer. "The human race is so fickle. An entire family can disappear and there is no one to care or answer for the crime."</p>
      <p>"You say humans as if…" Vergil grits his teeth as your eyes connect. You haven't pushed him, but it seems like the right time will never arrive, so you continue on, "You haven't told me anything, you know. About your brother, or what you're researching, or that sword you brought home."</p>
      <p>"There is nothing to tell," he replies.</p>
      <p>To your surprise, his face goes a bit red, indicating he is lying. Vergil quickly moves to clean up the papers and photographs. "Your brother, then," you say, stepping closer as Vergil collects the pile. "What is his name? Where does he live? I don't understand why you haven't—"</p>
      <p>"It's not your concern!" he insists, standing and scowling at you.</p>
      <p>You jump, and both freeze, staring at one another across the room. Has Vergil ever yelled at you like this before? <em>No, never,</em> you think, your pulse racing and the voice of your stepfather and grandmother yelling echoing in your head. Your heart pounds as he watches you, wondering if he'll leave now. But even with the secrets and the fear that you can now taste on your tongue, you can't stand the thought of him walking out the door for good.</p>
      <p>Clearing your throat, you walk to the table by the door, fingering through the mail until you find a brown envelope. "This came for you."</p>
      <p>Vergil takes it suspiciously. You sit on the other end of the couch, but he does not look your way. Instead, Vergil opens the envelope and several items drop into his hand: some photographs, notes on Dante, and a business card. "I'd like to help," you say.</p>
      <p>"Hm?" he murmurs, not listening.</p>
      <p>"I want to help. With whatever this is." Vergil finally glances up, and you slide closer, nodding your head towards the things he holds. "Is that your brother?"</p>
      <p>"Yes." Vergil holds up the photograph of a young man walking down a street. "My friend is watching him for me, so I know what he is up to."</p>
      <p>"Can I meet him?" He opens his mouth to say no but you grab his arm tightly. "Please? He's your brother, we should—"</p>
      <p>"No."</p>
      <p>You blow out an annoyed breath. "I've been patient with you, Vergil. You've told me nothing of this friend, or your family, or whatever these plans are you're making. You come home with blood on your clothes and carry a sword for fuck's sake! Are you… are you in a gang or something? Are you selling drugs?"</p>
      <p>Vergil laughs. "I'm not interested in what the humans think of as power."</p>
      <p>"Why do you keep saying that? Why do you keep calling people 'humans'?" You recoil back a bit, your voice raising in pitch. "You're human, Vergil! You're a person just like everyone else!"</p>
      <p>He frowns, his lips drawing tightly together. "You're wrong."</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>It is shocking to Vergil how little exists about Sparda. He starts with the records of himself and Dante, finding their birth certificates easily enough. Hours at the library are spent searching through microfilm for articles about their hometown, going back to find a picture of Eva and Sparda, a wedding announcement, a birth announcement. But there is nothing other than the birth certificates, and Vergil is sorely disappointed.</p>
      <p>It makes sense, of course. Eva and Sparda would have wanted to keep their family hidden and their sons safe. But the more he finds nothing, the more indignant he becomes. Did they not have friends? What about Eva's family? Was there a church, a school, a book club they could have joined? Even after the year he supposes was his father's disappearance—the year before the demons attacked—there is no trace of them, as if they had never existed.</p>
      <p>Vergil becomes convinced that the lack of contact with anyone outside of their own family unit was ultimately what made them so vulnerable. Sparda had hidden his wife and family away so the demons could not find them. Yet when they needed help the most, none would arrive, because no one knew they were there. No one knew to look for two little boys and keep them safe.</p>
      <p>He looks back and forth before he crosses the street. The night gives him cover, only one flickering light coming from the lamppost at the end of the street. People don't worry him, but the demons have been growing bolder. He frowns as he remembers the look of horror on your face when he had come home that night after the first attack in the city, after meeting Arkham. Vergil had almost not gone home then, afraid that they would follow.</p>
      <p>Afraid that you would throw him out, or that the house would be swarmed, just as it had the day his mother had died.</p>
      <p>Afraid that he had to leave.</p>
      <p>That would be for the best, wouldn't it? It's just a matter of time now. He had the better part of a year without being hunted, finding peace with you and hiding successfully in this city. Your little apartment, your life together, all of it had lulled him into a false sense of security, a bit of hope that maybe it was over. Maybe the demons would give up looking for him, Vergil had thought; maybe he could leave everything he had lost behind and rebuild with you.</p>
      <p>But they've returned. Whether they caught his scent finally or there has been some other foul play, he does not know; but the demons now hunt him again, and Vergil can only do his best to keep them away. There have been a few close calls when he had barely managed to escape, still learning to use Yamato on a steep curve as the sword awakens a power that he did not realize. He will need to leave for good soon, but that means leaving you behind or explaining everything. But how?</p>
      <p>For now he clenches his fist around the hilt of Yamato. The sword has taken to him naturally, or rather, he has taken to it. As he looks up at the sign above the shop, the one that matches the business card in his pocket, the irony that he wields a sword while his brother—and presumably, his father—wielded something much different is not lost on him.</p>
      <p>There is no bell that chimes when he opens the door. The hour is late, so there are no customers, and the shop is clearly closed. There is a light coming from a back room, and Vergil steps in to take a look around before announcing himself. It is clean, but cluttered, glass cases that hold various firearms along the perimeters and shelves stuffed full of boxes of ammunition. He tries to trace the steps that Sparda may have taken here, when he came to purchase Luce and Ombra. Or were they gifted to him? Well, Vergil will find out.</p>
      <p>"Stupid to rob a gun shop, you know!" a voice calls from the back, and he freezes. "There ain't no money in the till, so you can forget that too!"</p>
      <p>"I'm here for Nell Goldstein," Vergil says to the room.</p>
      <p>From the lighted doorway a silhouette appears, a woman barely five foot three stepping into view. She is wiping her hands on a towel, and he can just make out her sharp features and the scowl on her face. "You sound like him," she says. "Look like him too. Who are you?"</p>
      <p>"Are you talking about Sparda?" Vergil asks.</p>
      <p>His heart is pounding as she leans against the doorframe. "Sparda? No, not him. I'm talking about Tony. You related?"</p>
      <p><em>Tony Redgrave.</em> Dante's pseudonym. But that can come later, because Vergil strides across the shop. "You know the name Sparda? Tell me—"</p>
      <p>He stops when the light glints against the metal of the barrel of the revolver she now holds. Nell points a gun directly at his stomach, her expression unchanging. "I wonder if I shoot you, if you'll sew up nice and neat too," she muses.</p>
      <p>"Tell me what you know," he growls.</p>
      <p>"I ain't tellin' you shit."</p>
      <p>Vergil moves to draw his sword when the phone rings. It sounds shrill in the tension between them, but Nell looks unfazed as she walks over, keeping the gun pointed steadily at him. She picks it up and cradles it to her ear as they glare at one another. "Yeah… Just finishing up. Customer just walked in… No, I got it fine. You get that girl dinner and make sure she takes a bath, she has school tomorrow… Yes, I'll be there right after."</p>
      <p>She hangs up and then leans her free hand on the counter. "If you're not here to buy something, I suggest you go."</p>
      <p>"I am the son of the knight Sparda," Vergil says.</p>
      <p>Nell snorts. "And I'm the queen of England."</p>
      <p>Vergil grits his teeth and in a flash he pulls Yamato from its sheath. He grabs her by the shirt and pins her to the wall, the boxes rattling, some toppling to the ground. Bullets roll over the floor as he presses the sword to her neck, and he feels the barrel pushed right in the center of his torso. "You will tell me what I want to know!" he hisses.</p>
      <p>She grins, a chuckle escaping her. "You think you're the first one to come in here and make demands? I'm giving you three seconds to get out of my shop before I blast a hole in you the size of New York."</p>
      <p>"I know you know the legendary knight Sparda," Vergil counters. "I've been looking for information about him. He wielded two guns made in this shop. Was that you? When was he here?"</p>
      <p>Her expression shifts from amusement to cold. "Why do you want to know about him?"</p>
      <p>"I told you, I'm his son," he growls.</p>
      <p>Nell sighs. "Put your sword away. I'll answer your questions, and then you're going to fuck off, understand?"</p>
      <p>Vergil considers a moment before nodding. She is clearly human, so if she tries to run he knows he can easily subdue her. And if she does decide to shoot him, it will hardly kill him. He suspects a bit of trust will go a long way with the woman, so he steps back, but holds Yamato at his side instead of sheathing it.</p>
      <p>Nell keeps her gun pointed as well. "Some weapon you got there. Mind if I take a look?"</p>
      <p>"No," he replies. "This is a gift from my father, Sparda."</p>
      <p>"Sparda never mentioned you."</p>
      <p>That stings, but Vergil only raises his chin. "When was he last here?"</p>
      <p>"Years." She narrows her eyes, her free hand wrapping around her hip. "What about Tony?"</p>
      <p>"He's my brother," Vergil admits.</p>
      <p>"Brother? Never told me he had a brother."</p>
      <p><em>Of course he wouldn't.</em> Why would that inconvenient little truth ever come up for Dante? "We're not close." Vergil looks around, suddenly wanting out of the shop and away from this place. "When you say years, how many? Is it less than ten?"</p>
      <p>During the pause following his question he glances over. Nell is watching him with her stoic expression, but he can see she is calculating her answer. "I don't know," she finally answers. "Could be. Been at least that, I'd say." Then she smiles slowly. "When was the last time <em>you</em> saw him?"</p>
      <p>It is a remark meant to test him. "More than a decade ago," he replies. "That's why I'm looking for him, or at least any trace of him. He disappeared not long before demons attacked my childhood home. My mother escaped with my brother, leaving me to die."</p>
      <p>Nell gives a humorless laugh. "Some story you got there. Tony never told me that either."</p>
      <p>"Probably wracked with guilt," Vergil huffs. "He got to live an easy life with our mother, not on the streets like I did. He was taken care of while I had to face the world on my own."</p>
      <p>"What the fuck are you talking about?" Nell snaps. "Tony ain't got an easy life. He's barely living now, even stayed here a few times when he had nowhere else to go. And his mother died, or at least the woman who raised him. I don't think it was his real mother."</p>
      <p>Her words hit him like a train. "His mother died?" he echoes. "When? Who told you that?"</p>
      <p>Vergil starts towards her and Nell holds the gun up to his head. "Stay back."</p>
      <p>"You're a liar," he says coldly. "Humans are nothing more than scum."</p>
      <p>"Nell Goldstein is a lot of things, but I ain't no liar," she says. "Now get the hell out of my shop."</p>
      <p>"No," Vergil snaps. "Not until you tell me—"</p>
      <p>A gunshot rings out and Vergil freezes, pain searing through his left side. He looks down as blood flows out of the hole now just above his hip. The bullet must have gone clean through, because the hole is clean despite the burning of his flesh. His lungs squeeze as he looks back up and sees Nell cock the hammer.</p>
      <p>Vergil moves in a flash, and Yamato slices through the woman, pinning her to the shelves. She coughs out a spray of blood and drops the gun. He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand as he slowly removes the sword, staring at how bright her blood is on the blade. Demons have dark, thick blood, almost like ink; he had never killed a human before.</p>
      <p>Yet he feels nothing as Nel slumps to the ground. "Rotten bastard," she coughs. "You ain't no Sparda. You ain't Tony's brother. He's… he's a good one. You're nothing."</p>
      <p>His heart pounds as he watches her head roll back. "You're worse than nothing," Vergil murmurs. "You're a human."</p>
      <p>As if to prove his point, his hand goes to his side. The flesh is still burning and sore, but the blood has clotted and the wound has shrunk at least half in size. He smirks a bit at Nell, who clutches her own stomach as she bleeds out, red soaking the floorboards.</p>
      <p>Vergil walks across the shop and finds a shelf with rags. He grabs one to wipe the blade clean before sliding Yamato back to its place on his hip. His mind is empty and calm as he enters the storeroom in the back. For days since seeing Arkham, Vergil had been plagued with questions about his parents, their fates, his brother. He would lay at night wondering what the demons were planning, if he would be forced into hiding. If you could be protected.</p>
      <p>But Yamato had changed that. For some reason he had worried the sword could only be used to kill demons, but it sliced through Nell and her threats so easily that as he grabs a can of gasoline, Vergil smiles. His head is now much clearer, his path more visible.</p>
      <p>He is careful not to splash any on himself as he soaks the racks of guns. "Shit," Nell coughs when he drops the can in front of her.</p>
      <p>Vergil picks up a pack of matches from the counter. "I'll give Tony your regards," he says before heading to the door, tossing a lit match behind him before heading into the night.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. November 1995</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for dubcon/noncon and drug reference.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>
        <em>Oh but that's the irony,</em>
        <br/>
        <em>broken people</em>
        <br/>
        <em>are not fragile.</em>
        <br/>
        <em>—Clinton Sammy Jr.</em>
      </p>
      <p>Vergil scowls as he walks down the street, pulling his hood up over his head. The day is warm and sunny, the streets of Fortuna crowded as people go about their business. But he does not enjoy the weather or appreciate the peaceful atmosphere. Instead, he stalks forward, trying not to be noticed as he heads back towards the inn. He ignores the people that walk by, uncaring that any might or might not offer a glance. Vergil has spent his life trying to be invisible; this is proving to be a help now, when he wants to be alone.</p>
      <p>Lost in thought, he only glances up to check street signs as he maneuvers through the center of the town. His hand slips into his pocket to wrap around the piece of paper inside with Arkham's number, knowing that he is waiting for his call. Something about that makes his blood boil; he imagines Arkham's smug look when Vergil confirms that yes, everything he told him has been proven true. His father, Sparda, had been a powerful lord in this region, and now revered as a god among these people, who call themselves the Order.</p>
      <p>He had spent much of the past two days visiting the holy sites and prowling through the library, looking at statues and walking through the museum. Fortuna is a mix of religion and government, with the legend of Sparda at the heart of it all. Vergil had stared up at one particularly large monument to Sparda, frowning as he tried to remember his father's face. He certainly hadn't had the two huge horns that jutted out from his brow and twisted downwards.</p>
      <p>Vergil finds the entire thing strange, to be honest. He is proud to know his father had such an impact and was still revered to this day, even though he hadn't been seen in Fortuna for hundreds of years. But it only opens more questions, like what he had been doing when he had met Eva, why he had left, and where he is now.</p>
      <p>He reaches the Fortuna Inn but hesitates in the lobby. Vergil doesn't want to go upstairs and be forced to make his phone call, so he takes a quick detour to the little bar off to the side. He sits in the last stool and orders a brandy when the bartender places a napkin in front of him. The dark liquid tastes good despite the little burn, and Vergil sags, bowing his head.</p>
      <p>Vergil stares at his hands, a feeling of cold washing over him. The skin is itchy and raw from soap; he had taken to washing them obsessively in the past week, ever since he had killed Nell Goldstein.</p>
      <p><em>Not Nell. That human.</em> Easier to think that way, not a person with a life and a family that calls to check on her and a girl at home with school the next day. Just a person, a thing standing in the way of his answers and hurling accusations, that hides the truth of his past and favors his brother. The most annoying thing about humans is how dirty they are, filled with blood that is hard to get out of fabric. There were stains on the cuffs of his jacket that took hours of scrubbing to be rid of, and his hands smelled of gasoline for days. No matter how much soap and hot water he used, Vergil could not get rid of it all, which is why he had not gone home to you after leaving Red Grave City.</p>
      <p>He thinks of you now as he finishes off his drink, wondering what you are doing, wondering if you're worried or angry or noticed him gone at all. He fiddles with the change in his pocket for a moment, considering a call. Is he ready to answer your questions? Definitely not.</p>
      <p>Someone slips into the stool next to him before he notices, his eyes snapping up when a flirtatious voice says, "Hello, sir."</p>
      <p>Vergil frowns. She is wearing a very old-fashioned dress the color of strawberries, but her face is covered with a white shawl. "Not interested," he huffs.</p>
      <p>"I'm sorry." She pulls the covering away, revealing dark blonde hair and dark eyes. Her smile is sweet, but curious, and to his annoyance she leans in. "I should introduce myself."</p>
      <p>"Don't bother." He leans back a bit and signals the bartender.</p>
      <p>The drink arrives and the woman slides a bill across the counter. "It's on me," she murmurs, her eyes glancing his way through the thick lashes.</p>
      <p>If she wants to waste her money, fine. Vergil picks up the drink and takes a sip, but when he lowers his hand she plucks it from him and sets it on the counter. "Now that we're friends, shall we get better acquainted?"</p>
      <p>"I don't know who you are—"</p>
      <p>"But I know who you are." She tilts her head and smiles almost shyly, and Vergil frowns. Her hand presses to his forearm, and she stretches towards him until her lips are next to his ear. "Son of Sparda."</p>
      <p>Vergil jerks backward, his mouth popping open in shock. "How do you—"</p>
      <p>"I could tell as soon as I saw you in the street." She smiles again, rubbing her thumb against the fabric of his coat. "We have been waiting for our lord's return for centuries. Do you suppose your presence in this city would go unnoticed?"</p>
      <p>"Who's 'we'?" Vergil growls. "The Order?"</p>
      <p>"No," she laughs with a toss of her hair. "Those men are fools who play with things they could never understand. May the fates help us if they got their hands on any <em>actual</em> power." Her other hand now presses to his thigh, and Vergil stiffens as he looks down to see her fingers massaging his leg. "But there are some of us who are the true believers. The true disciples of Sparda."</p>
      <p>Vergil presses his lips together tightly. "What is it you want?"</p>
      <p>She eases back on her chair, sitting prettily. "Finish your drink. Then we can go somewhere private so I can explain everything."</p>
      <p>With a nod he reaches for his glass, drinking the last of the brandy with one gulp. The woman slides from her stool and Vergil follows suit, walking through the bar and into the lobby, towards the elevator. They ride together upwards, and he takes the time to examine her closely. The woman stares straight ahead, her face serene. She is beautiful certainly, but Vergil can't help in that moment but to think of you, and what you would say knowing he is taking her back to his room. <em>It's just to talk,</em> he thinks, but his vision starts to swim a bit as a sweat breaks out on his brow.</p>
      <p>The elevator stops with a jolt that makes him stumble. "This way," Vergil says, leading her towards his room. He feels lightheaded now, and after fumbling with the key he is grateful when they are inside. Quickly he removes his coat and goes to the thermostat, adjusting the temperature so the room is blasted with cold. His stomach turns in the stale air, and Vergil sits heavily in the lone chair in the room.</p>
      <p>The woman watches him closely, standing by the door with her hands clasped. "Say your business and go," he rasps, finding it hard to breathe.</p>
      <p>"Are you alright?" she murmurs. The woman steps closer, and as Vergil watches his vision goes double.</p>
      <p>Two hands press to his face, and Vergil sighs. He knows that touch, and he presses into one palm as the fingers stroke his cheek. "I've missed you," he admits. "There's so much I wanted to tell you. But I was afraid."</p>
      <p>"Tell me now," you whisper.</p>
      <p>Your voice is different, but Vergil barely notices. He tilts his face up and feels the brush of cool lips against his feverish ones.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Vergil wakes with a gasp. His brow is drenched with sweat that drips into his eyes and his heart pounds too fast. Immediately his stomach turns, and he rolls from the bed and stumbles towards the washroom. He barely makes it before he collapses over the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach until there is nothing but cramps remaining.</p>
      <p>He sits back against the wall to catch his breath, pressing a hand to his forehead. Never once has been sick in his life: no colds, no flu, no childhood chickenpox. This is the first time he has ever vomited, and it leaves him shaking and confused. How much did he have to drink?</p>
      <p>Cautiously he pushes himself to stand, holding steady to the sink as he waits for his legs to stop shaking. Once he is sure he can move he rinses his mouth and splashes cool water on his face. His skin feels hot and tight, and he tries to remember when he started to feel sick. He is in Fortuna, Vergil is certain of that much, and had returned to the inn to call Arkham. Did he do that yet? Was that yesterday?</p>
      <p>Vergil walks back to the bedroom and stops. The room is in disarray, the bedsheets pulled from the mattress as if he had been thrashing in his sleep. The drawers are open, as well as the closet door, even his coat in a heap on the floor; then when he looks down, he realizes he is naked. None of this makes sense: he prefers the room to be neat, things put away. And he would never sleep without clothes, unless it is after a night of lovemaking with you, holding your body close against his.</p>
      <p>Was he robbed? Was someone here? How is this possible?</p>
      <p>He swallows thickly as his eyes fall on Yamato sitting on the desk. Quickly he moves to dress and gather his things, ignoring the nausea that still threatens as he shoves clothes into his bag and checks that Arkham's number is still in his coat pocket. Once he is ready Vergil leaves, knowing that whatever has happened to him in Fortuna, it is not anything he wants to revisit again.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>When the door of your apartment opens, you nearly drop your coffee. "Vergil?" you gasp, and when he walks inside you give a cry and run to him, throwing your arms around his shoulders.</p>
      <p>Seeing him is overwhelming, and for a minute or two you squeeze him close, afraid this is a dream, or he will disappear as suddenly as he had before. You press your face to his neck, breathing him in, his hair a bit longer as you drag your fingers through the strands, his frame feeling a bit thinner. Vergil stands stiffly for a long moment before his arm wraps around you cautiously, and a fresh wave of tears fall when he begins to relax in your arms.</p>
      <p>"Where have you been?" you whisper. "You've been gone for weeks, no word, where…? What…?"</p>
      <p>There are so many questions, but his mouth falls on yours and they fall away. He walks you backward, the thud of his bag dropping to the floor and the clang of the sword echoing in the apartment. He kisses you furiously, like a dying man who has found water, until you reach the bed and he climbs over you.</p>
      <p>His hands are hot and insistent as they pull at your clothes, and you are the same, a fire igniting at having him back, and here in your arms. Soon you are both naked and he is grinding against you, his cock thick and familiar as it presses against your thigh. Vergil sucks on a nipple as you arch into him, and he drags his fingers along your thigh until he grabs your backside, yanking you upwards so your sex is flush with his. He enters you slowly, as if savoring the act, finding your mouth and covering it with his. "Open," he gasps, jerking his hips. "Open for me."</p>
      <p>You obey. How can you not? The pace is brutal, your cries met with each snap of his hips. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, a tear sliding down your cheek as you cling to him. Vergil puffs against your shoulder, driving his cock into you as if chasing something, or running, you can't tell which.</p>
      <p>Your legs wrap around him as his arms wrap around your back, and together you move as if two halves of a perfect whole. When his lips suck on your neck his cock hits a spot inside your body that has you shaking, and suddenly your orgasm crests, the coil inside snapping and making you arch with a cry. Vergil is relentless, fucking you hard, and as your arms fall away weakly he lifts himself on his palms to pump his hips. You watch in a mixture of awe and surrender as his body works over yours, his face twisted in passion, his muscles tight and straining. When he comes, his chokes out a curse, and you tighten around his cock, welcoming the hot rush of seed that fills you.</p>
      <p>Vergil hangs his head, panting, and you reach up to cup his face. Usually he'll press into your touch, kissing the heel of your hand or leaving a little love bite. But this time he almost shrinks away from you, moving off quickly to leave you laying on the bed as he sits on the edge and grabs his pants.</p>
      <p>You sit up, sliding to lay your hands on his back. Vergil stills, and you press a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Vergil?" you say quietly, your voice shaking a bit. "Can you tell me what's going on? Where you've been?" He doesn't answer, and you lean your forehead to his back, tense under your touch. "I don't know what you're doing, but I can help… or at least understand… I've missed you, and there's so much I've wanted to tell you…"</p>
      <p>He sucks in a breath and stands, and you blink up at him, startled. "You wouldn't understand," he says without looking. "Do not ask."</p>
      <p>The blood drains from your face as you watch him open a drawer, pulling out a fresh shirt. "No, Vergil," you say through gritted teeth. You pull the bedsheet around your body as he glances over, and anger flares sudden and hot. "You can't do this!" you cry. "You can't leave for weeks and come back and… and just expect me to be okay with this!"</p>
      <p>"I'm not expecting that," he says coolly.</p>
      <p>"Tell me where the fuck you've been!" you shout. He ignores you and moves to the closet, and you jump up, following him and grabbing his arm. "Don't ignore me, god damn it! I love you!"</p>
      <p>Vergil swallows, but does not meet your furious gaze. "That is your mistake, not mine."</p>
      <p>Your eyes burn as a sob catches in your throat. "So that, just now… that was nothing? I'm nothing to you?"</p>
      <p>"I didn't say that."</p>
      <p>"Then what are you saying?"</p>
      <p>Vergil huffs an impatient breath. "It's too complicated to explain. I'm—"</p>
      <p>But you aren't listening, because now that you are examining him you pull down the collar of his shirt, your eyes widening at the mark on his neck. "What is that?" you hiss, feeling lightheaded. "Who did that? Are you cheating on me?"</p>
      <p>Vergil jerks away as if burned, stepping around you. "I need to go."</p>
      <p>"No!" Nearly wild now, you grab his arm and tug hard. He tries to shrug you off, but you hold tightly, gripping his shirt to hold him tightly. "Tell me the truth!"</p>
      <p>Vergil's expression is furious when he looks down at you, and you dig your fingers into his shirt in response. "Ever since you met that Arkham, and you got that fucking sword… you've changed, Vergil! You lied to me about your past, and won't tell me where you're going, and you…" Your hand slides down his chest before pressing to his stomach, and you remember the wounds he had that night he came home late, and how they had seemed to heal before your eyes. "What are you?" you whisper, blinking back tears.</p>
      <p>Your eyes slowly lift to his face. Instead of fury or hurt or the love you've always seen behind his eyes, he looks at you without emotion. "You would cry over me?" he says, but his tone is sharp. "Over a prince of demons?"</p>
      <p>"What?" you gasp, shaking your head.</p>
      <p>He rounds on you, walking slowly and forcing you back. "There are things you cannot begin to understand. Things a human like <em>you</em> could not comprehend. I have found my destiny, and your tears will not stop me from taking what is mine."</p>
      <p>Your legs bump against the bed, and you press your hands to his chest to keep yourself from falling. "Vergil…? What…" It's all so confusing, your mind spinning with his words. It makes no sense, but all you can see is the coldness in his expression and the memory of those wounds.</p>
      <p>"I need strength. Power. And you are weak." He lifts his chin and a shiver goes through you. "This is for the best. Perhaps one day you'll understand, although I doubt it, a human like you."</p>
      <p>He steps away, and you watch in shock as he packs his bag, stunned into silence. Vergil walks to the door and pulls on his coat before slinging his bag on his shoulder. When he leans down to pick up his sword, you find your voice, and call his name. "Vergil…?"</p>
      <p>It comes out as an odd twist, and for a split second, you can tell that he hesitates. But he does not turn around and leaves the apartment, the door shutting with a firm slam behind him.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. October 2019</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Be gentle with me,<br/>for my heart hides<br/>so many wounds<br/>that never bleed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>—Alexandra Vasiliu</em>
</p><p>There is a man who sits on the bench in the park across the street from your house. That in itself is not terribly strange: the homeless often find refuge in the public space. And he certainly <em>seems</em> homeless, draped in dark clothes that are little more than rags, his posture drawn in as if to hide.</p><p>You wouldn't have noticed him at all if it wasn't for the feeling he gives you when you walk by. Something familiar, maybe his shoulders, maybe his hands. It isn't unease, but the opposite: a driving curiosity to find out who is underneath the fabric. You don't see anyone anymore, not really, not since Vergil had left. He had been the only person you ever trusted, and that had been a mistake.</p><p>So you don't dare to ask or to offer. You watch him from your window, as he sits day after day. No one even seems to see him there, not even a cop as he strolls by. You start to wonder if he's just a figment of your imagination, until you hear his voice.</p><p>You are at your door, keys in hand, checking the mailbox when you hear one word: "No."</p><p>Coldness douses your spine and you drop the envelopes on the ground. You are afraid to turn around, not of him, never of <em>him,</em> but afraid he's not really there. It has been so long since you heard that voice, more than two decades, but at once you are a girl of nineteen desperately in love with someone who does nothing but lie. Tears blur your vision as your mind pleads with your body to turn around and look. <em>Just look.</em></p><p>Slowly your head turns. Someone had offered him a bottle of water, and rebuffed they are now moving on. The figure settles back into itself, and your hands are trembling as you stare, waiting for more. But he does not speak again.</p><p>A minute slips by, then another. Does he see you? Why is he here, on that bench, that fucking bench outside of <em>your</em> house? You had left the apartment as soon as you were able, moving into this house in the city, the top half of a duplex you bought when the owner died. How did he know, how did he find you? Did he find you, or is this the biggest cosmic joke of the universe? Because you never forgot him, never moved on, prayed for days and nights he would come back until the pain of losing him turned you into stone.</p><p>Your feet are moving and you are halfway across the street before you notice. A car blares its horn at you, jolting you back to reality, and you dart to the sidewalk. The figure hasn't moved, not even when you were nearly hit. It can't be him, he would have moved, he would have saved you.</p><p>You approach slowly until you are standing in front of him. You realize your purse is gone, dropped somewhere, but your keys are still in your hand, like a weapon. Your eyes dart to the side and you note there is no sword. You can still remember the diamond pattern of the hilt, could draw it in your sleep.</p><p>Drawing in a shaking breath, you feel your lip shaking. "Vergil?" you whisper.</p><p>There is no answer, not even a movement indicating he had heard you. You swallow painfully, still waiting. "Vergil, is that you?" you ask again, a bit louder this time.</p><p>Slowly he stands. You step back, shaking now, his height so familiar that you let out a soft sob. "Vergil?"</p><p>"Do you know where it is?"</p><p>Blinking rapidly, you shake your head. "What?"</p><p>"Do you know where it is?"</p><p>His voice is different. Maybe this isn't Vergil? It's harder, rougher, like broken glass.</p><p>What has happened to him? "Vergil, come with me. Let me… I live right over there." You reach out and tug on his sleeve. "Vergil, please? Let me help you."</p><p>You pull harder and grab his hand. With a gasp you feel it is cold: cold as ice, his skin like stone, and when you look down you must swallow against the sight of gray skin that is cracked and broken. You remember so vividly that night in the kitchen when his face and arms had healed from an attack; in the years following, you had turned this over again and again, realizing he had never once been sick or hurt, no cuts or colds, no flu, no headaches. <em>Demon prince,</em> he had said to you, and some part of you had started to believe it, impossible as it is.</p><p>He snatches the hand away and turns. He moves quickly down the street, so quickly that it doesn't register for a moment. "Vergil! Wait!" You take off after him, tears blurring your vision as you try to keep track of the dark fabric. At the next intersection, the light turns green, and he disappears.</p><hr/><p>You almost ignore the knock on your front door, frowning at the clock. Nothing good ever came after 9:00, that's what your mother always used to say. But when it comes again, firm and insistent, you put your book aside and pull the blanket around your shoulders, cautiously opening the door with the chain still on.</p><p>At first you don't recognize him. You frown and take in the tall build, the angles on the handsome face, the dark coat. But when he shifts and you see the glint of his blue eyes and the silver color of his slicked-back hair—silver, not white or blond, he had scolded once—you let go a gasp. "Vergil?"</p><p>He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to. Your fingers fly over the locks until you can swing the door open wide, your mouth open as you stare. It's him for sure, just older now, a bit more… tired? You remember the cold, gray stranger from years ago, but this person is more like the boy you loved in your youth. Something wells in your throat, still filled with disbelief. How long has it been? How many years?</p><p>"It's been a while," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice makes you shiver.</p><p>"A while," you echo.</p><p>"You remembered."</p><p>Shaking your head, you say, "Of course I remember you."</p><p>"Can I come in?"</p><p>You blink, nodding, and step aside. Vergil's eyes sweep through the room as you replace the locks, and you realize how little has changed since he last stepped foot inside your home. A new ottoman, a couple of throw pillows, but other than that it is the same. The only thing that has changed, in fact, is you.</p><p>Wiping your hands nervously on your jeans, you ask, "When did you…?"</p><p>You don't even know what you are asking, but Vergil still answers. "Two days ago. I had some business to take care of, with my brother."</p><p>Your hands clench at your sides, the ease in his voice making the hair on your neck stand on end. "Business with your brother?" you hiss. "You've been gone for years! You left me! And that was you on the bench, wasn't it? That was you, after all that time, you came and sat outside of my house just to go again! Why? Why are you doing this?"</p><p>It actually looks like <em>that</em> got through. Vergil blanches, just slightly, and without asking he sits on the couch. His back is straight and he unbuttons his coat, the air of formality only stoking your anger. You've seen him hurt, and sick, and nearly half dead, you've heard him moan and cry and laugh with tears in his eyes. And he wants to sit on your couch as if he's a visitor from the local church making a social call?</p><p>"Vergil," you snap, moving in front of him with arms folded. "Tell me the truth."</p><p>"The truth." It's his turn to echo you, and to your surprise he reaches up and takes your hand. The little bit of affection catches you off guard, and all you can do is watch his thumb stroke the back of your hand, and remember. Vergil, sitting up late at night, reading books yellow with age as you dozed next to him. Listening to him talk about the places you would visit together, trying to picture him as you could never see yourself. Running his hands through your hair as he talked of his plans, the spark in his eye so lovely that it helped you ignore the lies on the surface that left you so unsettled at times.</p><p>You try to tug your hand away gently, but he holds firm. "I owe you an explanation," he says.</p><p>The laugh that huffs out of your throat is quick and humorless. "You owe me more than that."</p><p>Vergil glances up, and you see there is something different. A part of him you haven't seen since you were barely adults, something that is warm, something you stopped associating with him. "You're right," he answers.</p><p>The confession, as small as it is, catches you by surprise. "Since when are you so self-aware?" you say before you can stop yourself.</p><p>But he only shakes his head. "This feels strange," Vergil murmurs. You frown as he continues to stroke the skin of your hand, but his expression is thoughtful. "I'm feeling things that… well, I'm feeling, anyway. And I needed to come and see you, that much was certain."</p><p>It is sweet to say, even though you don't trust him, not yet. "Where did you go?" you ask.</p><p>"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he replies, glancing away.</p><p>"Try me."</p><p>Clearing his throat, he asks, "Did you see on the news the story about Red Grave City?"</p><p>"Yes," you frown. "What about it?"</p><p>Vergil nods, easing back on the couch, and you sit next to him. He talks for a while, the most you've heard from him since you were young, and he goes on about legacies and power and all kinds of fantasy, leaving you enthralled without understanding why. He tells you about the sword he had lost, that belonged to his father—Yamato, you remember the name clearly, another detail he had shared you never really understood. There is hesitation on the next part, something he hides as he glosses over years spent "away", but the pain in his voice keeps you from asking more. He tells you about leaving his human self behind, of becoming a monster, only to be patched back together by his brother. <em>Demon Prince,</em> that's what he had called himself, but could any of this be possible? He tells you of heading off to fight off Hell in order to save his son.</p><p>"Your son?" you interrupt.</p><p>Vergil nods. "It was unexpected."</p><p>That… stings. More than you're willing to admit, even to yourself. If he has a son, then that means… You shake your head, not ready to think about that. "You were right. I don't believe any of this."</p><p>He seems hurt by that, which catches you off guard. "I don't blame you," replies Vergil, although the cool timbre of his voice contradicts the very uncomfortable look on his face. "But I'm done with all that now. I tried to become something I'm not, and it didn't work. So now I'm going to try to just be…"</p><p>"Yourself?"</p><p>Vergil chuckles and meets your gaze. "I was going to say human. But I suppose myself is apt."</p><p>The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and against your better judgment, your heart softens. "I don't understand," you murmur. You reach up and stroke your fingertip against the side of his brow: something he always liked, and as always Vergil sinks just a bit, pressing against your touch.</p><p>"I know you don't." He hesitates, and you wonder: is he searching for the right words, or is he convincing himself they are true?</p><p>"What do you want?" you murmur.</p><p>He swallows, his eyes down. "Another chance? I keep asking for one from everyone." Finally his gaze lifts, and there is a warm sensation inside of you that swells because there is sincerity there.</p><p>"I'm older now," you say.</p><p>Vergil laughs. "So am I."</p><p>"I'm different," you clarify. "You broke my heart. You hurt me."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>Why is this so easy? It shouldn't be, not after so long, but he looks like the same boy who needed a place to stay on a cold night and felt so warm in your bed. "That was you on the bench, wasn't it?" you murmur.</p><p>He looks into your eyes and nods. "I don't know why. I came back and was dying. I needed to find someone, and I followed my instincts. I thought I was finding Yamato, but I found you."</p><p>You close your eyes and shake your head. "That night when you healed," you whisper, afraid of hurting him.</p><p>"I never wanted you to know," he says.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"It was too dangerous. Things wanted me dead."</p><p>The tone in his voice sends a shiver through you. But there is no lie in his eyes, not this time. "And now?"</p><p>"It's over, I suppose? I don't know. But… that part is over." Vergil swallows uncomfortably. "There is too much to say, I don't know how to explain it all."</p><p>"It's okay," you sigh. "We have time."</p><p>On instinct you reach up and press your palm to his face. The last time you did this, you were still barely children, and he had flinched away from your touch. But now he presses against your palm, sinking towards you, and Vergil wraps his arms around you to hold you closely. You press your cheek to his, feeling him tremble. He feels so strong and yet so vulnerable at the same time, and as you card your hand through his hair you wonder just what really happened to him.</p><p>You whisper his name and he turns to press his mouth on yours. It is unexpected, but when has Vergil ever not surprised you? Your lashes are wet as you kiss him back, the sensation so familiar it almost hurts. Your heart aches remembering the last kiss, the last touch, the last time you were together. It feels like a lifetime ago; it probably was.</p><p>He pulls you closer so you are practically draped over his lap. His hands slide up the back of your shirt, warm and firm and smooth. The last image you have of him as that figure on the street is fading like a dream as you press against his body. The kiss turns more passionate as one hand slips into your hair, and Vergil sighs as you open your lips to slide your tongue along his. The taste of him awakens the part of you that had gone cold and quiet when he left, and you cover his body with yours, needing to be close.</p><p>His heart is beating wildly when you push your hands under his shirt and your palm finds his chest. Vergil helps you remove his shirt, and then he pulls off yours. The look on his face is nothing but reverence, but you blush a bit, suddenly self-conscious. "I haven't…"</p><p>He looks up at you and nods. "About Nero… it's hard to explain, but I will. Just know I've never been unfaithful to you."</p><p>Your brows draw down slightly, wondering what that means. But he pulls you into another kiss, his hands roaming you now, and you decide to leave that until he can explain.</p><p>It takes no time for him to remove your bra, and then he turns to lay you back gently. Vergil was never a <em>rough</em> lover, but he could be hard, so the soft care makes this moment feel strange. His mouth presses to your neck, and he whispers how beautiful you are as they travel downward. Your own heart is fluttering by the time he kisses your breast, your eyes sliding closed when his lips tug on your nipple.</p><p>Again, he is not demanding, instead soft as he sucks on your flesh. He teases you with his teeth as your body melts with pleasure, his fingers caressing you tenderly. "Do you want to stop?" he asks, his voice strained as he presses his forehead to your chest.</p><p>"No, no, of course not," you laugh.</p><p>He kneels up and takes hold of the waistband of your leggings. "I love you," he says as he pulls the fabric down. "I never stopped."</p><p>You lift your hips and his hands travel back up your bare legs. "I didn't either," you reply.</p><p>It goes on like this, slow and quiet, his demanding touch now so tender, his searing kisses a sweet gentleness. He lights your core on fire with his touch, until you are moaning and reaching for him, gasping for more. "Please Vergil… I need you…"</p><p>"Open for me." Your eyes close and a tear rolls down your cheek as your thighs spread and he presses inside your body. It's been a long time since the last time you were together, and it's uncomfortable at first; but he uses just as much care now, his shallow thrusts making your back arch from the cushion.</p><p>You slide your hands on his chest, fingers searching his skin for any signs of the cracked and gray skin. But he is perfect and whole and solid, and once his hips are flush with yours you look up at him, eyes wide and searching.</p><p>He stares down at you almost in awe as he starts to move. You press your hand to his cheek again and he winces, and you see the pleasure and pain in his face. Your palm grows wet as he kisses your skin, and before long he is thrusting with a deep, steady pace that has you both moaning. You twist underneath him as the pleasure mounts, the anticipation building until it snaps inside and your body begins to pulse. Vergil groans, long and loud, and as your muscles tighten around him he spills inside of you. His seed is hot and thick as it fills you up, making you cry out as wave after wave of bliss has you holding to him tightly.</p><p>Vergil sinks against you, laying with his head on your chest, another thing from years ago that you remember well. How is it two decades pass and yet it feels like no time at all? You stroke his hair as he grows soft inside you, his hands clenching and releasing against your back as your breathing slows.</p><p>"I won't let you go again," he says.</p><p>"Okay," you reply. Vergil raises his head and you kiss his lips. "We can start over."</p><p>"I have so much to explain," he sighs.</p><p>You stroke his cheek. "No more secrets. I am ready to hear it all."</p><p>He nods and leans in for another kiss. As he moves over you, you remember the red pendant and how it had pressed against your chest your first night together. That Vergil had been just as strong, and just in need of help. But this time, you are stronger too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading! I'll have a new story ready to go in a few weeks, and some new oneshots out shortly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>